


Seven to One

by AikoIsari



Series: Baggage We Carry [1]
Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Gen, Harm to Children, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Graphic Violence, Psychological Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8724376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AikoIsari/pseuds/AikoIsari
Summary: 01 AT. Takeru can only watch as all his friends suffer and all he knows falls apart. This is a different story of the night of August Third, the story of the other side of the sky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> warning for harm to minors, implied violence

The Digital World had never been an ordinary place. It would create buildings on a whim, let cities and rivers be washed away without a care. It would create lives and call others from their homes. It was often very decisive with what it desired when it chose to be, even if its inhabitants were against it. So naturally, when it was in danger of falling apart, of course it would choose saviors as possibly capricious as itself.

Children, like the universe, were very malleable. They could play many roles, learn and adapt fairly quickly, and they sought to be _special,_ more than anyone else. Hence why, when asked to fight and protect their worlds, to be a hero, it was perfectly understandable that these kindhearted children answered the call and rose to it, once it became clear. They would save the day, go home with adventures in their hearts, and have wonderful memories that everyone would look back upon with both fondness and dismay, sometimes even disbelief. That's how the story goes.

But reality isn't as cut and dry as all of that, at least not all of the time. These villains liked to teach that the hard way. The Dark Masters played with their food before they ate it, a vice of theirs. Unfortunately, vices do not always lead to failure.

Perhaps they might though, someday.

* * *

From the position he was in, Takaishi Takeru was in a good place to do a lot of thinking.

Not that this wasn't something he did often, but he was an eight-year-old boy. For most, particularly ones like him who spent much of their time outdoors and with others, time spent being introspective was time better spent doing homework or having fun. Not that he wasn't a thinker sometimes, but it wasn't something he just did on a whim. However, since he had nothing better to do in this place besides stare at walls as gray as ashes or sleep in fitful bursts as he became complacent to the sound of gear-twisting, metallic giggles.

So, think he did. And if he was honest with himself, he knew how this whole thing had begun. At the time, of course, none of them had had any idea how this could possibly have happened. Sure, they had lost, and badly, but that wasn't necessarily an indication that everything was over, right? Things had just been bad, that's all. In the moment, no one had thought of the why. All they had done was experience.

So here he was, having an experience. Thinking of August first, it probably wasn't the one his mother had meant him to have.

The sound of trees rustling in the night wind filtered in from the window high above the little boy's blond head as he thought in silence. Some shingles creaked as rain pattered glass and ceramic. The first week he had been here, Takeru had dreamed of the roof crashing and falling on him, crushing his spine and leaving him there in unimaginable pain and to be taunted until, well- thoughts he hadn't had much of before the Digital World. Knowing where he was staying though, it was probably on purpose.

His captor was fond of games. He was less fond of losing. That was why Takeru was here.

Takeru didn't look about his prison cell very much these days. He shifted under the blanket, looking up at the ceiling and ignoring the cracking of steadily falling plastic. Another pile of broken toys had crumbled, leaving scattered blocks and action figures with missing limbs left to be tripped over on weak bare feet.

He didn't want to be one of those broken toys.

Takeru heard that thought and tugged on one ear, then the other. He didn't have time to think that way. That was what that person wanted. He wanted to harvest those thoughts and force Takeru to lose, just like his friends had once before. Then all of his dreams would probably come true.

The little boy let out a heavy breath, yawning despite himself. He had been here too long. He was almost able to relax.

Almost.

The catflap on the door fluttered as the tray shot through. Takeru didn't get up to go for it. His appetite had shrunken over the past few weeks. Besides, he knew better. This was a game too. Now he had to play.

Another person passed by his door. Takeru didn't lift his head. They would get in trouble if he even hinted at something. So he wouldn't. His brother could be really good at keeping secrets. Now, as he played, Takeru worked his hardest to be just like him.

Besides, no one here would want to save him. No one nearby anyway. So he was going to get stronger and save himself. Not for the first time, Takeru wiped salt water from his eyes.

"Mama," he mouthed to no one. To his immense relief, the sound didn't escape his throat. Still, he missed her so much.

He missed them all like he missed being able to cry.

* * *

"Good morning, Takeru~"

Takeru opened his eyes, the only motion he could get away with with his back to the door. It was best to pretend he was too scared to move so he could get a little more rest. His whole body throbbed with barely tended wounds. There was a titter like the crushing of glass under shoes. "Aha, you're still all worn out, huh? La-ame!" Takeru imagined jagged eyebrows slanting lower, the only indication of a pout on a mechanical face. Pouting and smirking were about the limits of the other's facial expressions, from what Takeru could tell. "Ah, it's okay," he finally said. "I'm just here to tell you something anyhow."

Takeru tried his hardest not to tense as the other went silent. Purely for dramatic effect, because that was this one's favorite thing next to rigged board games.

"Next time your Pata-bum comes flapping on by," they said, voice growing softer as they moved closer. Gloved fingers closed in a rough grip over his short yellow locks. He yanked and Takeru exhaled, containing his yelp. "Tell him to _lose_ , you got me?" The smell of battery acid and termite dinner ran over Takeru's nose and it wrinkled before he could stop himself. "Just because you win sometimes doesn't mean that _he's_ that great. It's only fair, right? I have to go easy on you."

_And you would know all about fair._

Takeru bit his lip. "He misses me," he finally said, giving up the game and pouting himself. "And I miss him! He wants to see me that's all!" They were friends, real ones. Nothing like this!

The digimon scoffed. It was a PicoDevimon kind of sound, except PicoDevimon could sound a lot more convincing. "I know that! But this is my world! And he's making the games all _boring_." He let go of Takeru's head. "I really hate being bored, you know."

Takeru swallowed, nodding through the pain in his neck. "Yeah," he said. "I know. I'll tell him, okay?"

The smirk returned like a permission slip to a teacher. "Good! He'd better listen!"

"He will," Takeru managed to get out, but Pinocchimon was already turning on his clunky feet and heading towards the door. His boot print squished into the bland breakfast he was going to have eaten. Once the door closed again, Takeru shuddered but no tears came.

If Patamon kept winning, he would definitely be killed. That wouldn't happen again. He couldn't let it! After all, in this world, who knew who would return and who wouldn't?

He rolled back to stare up at the ceiling once he could. What had caused this all to happen? How had he ended up here?

The cat flap swished, interrupting his own thoughts. He turned his head. There was a white handkerchief, stained with red.

Of course, it only made sense. Pinocchimon reminded him once a week.

All of this had started because of Hikari.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I promised myself I would write about this, the story before Ours. So here it is! It's not going to be as long as Ours itself, like I thought but I think it should be an interesting ride. If you haven't read Ours, don't worry! You don't have to. It needs an update anyway.
> 
> Challenges: AU Diversity boot camp, prompt - feeble (evil wins!AU), Diversity Writing J11, Advent 2015 day 18, and Golden Week Mini Advent.


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